


Winter's Midnight Roar

by orphan_account



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>By Virginia Ann Jacshuan</p>
    </blockquote>





	Winter's Midnight Roar

**Author's Note:**

> By Virginia Ann Jacshuan

WINTER'S MIDNIGHT ROAR

Virginia Ann Jacshuan 

  


> I stand amid the roar   
>  Of a surf-tormented shore,   
>  And I hold within my hand   
>  Grains of the golden sand--   
>  How few! Yet how they creep   
>  Through my fingers to the deep,   
>  While I weep - while I weep!   
>  O God! can I not grasp   
>  Them with a tighter clasp?   
>  O God! can I not save   
>  One from the pitiless wave?   
>  Is all that we see or seem   
>  But a dream within a dream? 
> 
> E. A. Poe

  


"There, I think that's the one, it looks right," Cody said, pointing over the _Riptide's_ bow to the grubby looking trawler they were slowly approaching. "How do you think we ought to play this one? We obviously can't sneak up on them."   


Nick chewed his lip, thinking briefly. They hadn't actually expected to meet the object of their search so soon and hadn't figured out a definite plan of attack. "OK, how about if we pull alongside and claim we're lost, you do the talking and I'll check out what they've got, then we go from there."   


"Jeez, Nick, I hate that, I really do." His expression was a pained realization that this was probably just what they'd end up doing.   


"You got any better ideas?" Nick asked rhetorically.   


Cody sighed, "No, but I still hate it. Let's do it."   


The distance between the two boats closed and Cody waved to the two men visible on the deck of the other. They were a sullen pair of scruffy looking fishermen, and as Nick slid his gun into the back of his waistband he said, "Yeah, I know, I hate it too. Talk nice to these slobs, will ya?"   


Positioning himself so his back couldn't be seen from the vantage of the other boat, he waved and smiled, somewhat insincerely.   


"Ahoy there, _Arcadia_ ," Cody called, "Permission to come alongside?"   


One of the lounging men waved in an ambiguous fashion, clearly unenthused about sea-going protocol. "Now what?" Cody demanded under his breath.   


"Stall them," Nick hissed back, "there's something under a tarp up front and it looks like some kind of artillery."   


"Great, now I _know_ I hate this." He waved again and as the _Riptide_ coasted up next to the stationary trawler, he asked, "Can you guys point out the direction to Catalina? We're kind of new at this, just rented this thing as a matter of fact, and seem to be a little lost."   


For an answer, the two pulled a pair of Uzis from under the railing they were leaning on and fired a double salvo through the main salon windows.   


"That's my boat!" Cody yelled angrily, wincing in sympathetic pain at the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass.   


"Swell," Nick groaned, "there goes our cover story."   


"Get your hands up!" One of the thugs shouted at them, then pointed at Cody. "You! Get up front and toss a bow line over, we're boarding." He blasted the single remaining unbroken window as punctuation.   


"All right! Quit shooting already!" Holding his hands over his head, Cody moved slowly out of the wheelhouse, muttering as he passed Nick, "Got any more bright ideas?" When he reached the steps, he descended slowly, but at the bottom, rather than turning toward the other boat, he dived to the side away from it, out of sight of the pirates. Nick ducked into the wheelhouse, pulling his gun and dropping one of them immediately. The other fired a covering burst at the _Riptide_ and dropped below the side of the iron trawler, yelling for reinforcements.   


Four more equally vile looking men boiled out of the back, two running forward and leaping for the bow of the _Riptide_ , now within reach, the other two heading for the side nearest the stern. Nick winged one of the second pair, and then had to duck again as the first thug opened up with the Uzi and covered his comrade's boarding. There was a shot from up near the bow as Cody got one of the other two, but the remaining one swarmed across the deck and tackled him before he could get off a second shot.   


Nick risked a look toward the front of the _Riptide_ and saw Cody wrestling with the pirate, who had a large knife and at least twenty pounds of hard muscle as advantage on his opponent. It was clear that Cody was steadily losing and would take the blade in his throat soon. Disregarding the threat to himself from the automatic still on board the _Arcadia_ , Nick stood and took quick aim at the thug, certain he could pick him off without endangering Cody.   


It would have been a fairly easy shot, too, but just as his finger tightened on the trigger he was hit from behind by the last pirate to board at the rear. His aim shifted slightly as the gun fired and he barely had time to register the way Cody jerked convulsively and began to crumple, before he was fighting desperately himself.   


It was a short pitched battle and ended abruptly when the pirate broke and ran, scrambling away from Nick to leap for the trawler when its whistle blasted three short notes. The lumbering corsair's engines went from a muted rumble to a full throated roar and it pulled away from the _Riptide_ faster than its battered outline would have indicated it was capable of.   


Still slightly dazed from a couple hard blows he had taken in the infighting, Nick staggered outside, calling "Cody?" There was no immediate reply and he made his way forward, his voice growing anxious as he continued to call. When he reached the bow and hadn't seen or heard Cody yet, the anxiety turned to rising panic. Dropping to his stomach and leaning over the edge of the hull, searching the water for some sign, he called, "Come on, Cody, don't do this to me, it's not funny! I mean it, man! Cody?"   


There was no answer, only the sloshing sound of water against the hull and the faint, diminishing noise of the other boat. His mind shifted to the last few seconds that he had seen Cody, playing again in awful detail the way he had moved as if struck, his expression showing a shock of pain, then gone limp, starting to fall overboard still locked in combat with the knife-wielding thug.   


"No," he moaned softly, unwilling to believe the implications of the memory. "Cody? Damn it, answer me!" _Maybe he threw that guy over, then came forward on the side opposite me and went inside. He's probably downstairs right now, having fits over all the broken windows and bullet holes. Yeah, that's gotta be it._   


His quick, hopeful search inside found no trace of his partner. Dashing back outside, he circumnavigated the _Riptide_ shouting Cody's name, then waiting for the slightest sound in return. There was still no sign and he suddenly found himself wishing desperately that he had taken Cody up on that offer of scuba lessons. Knowing it was probably hopeless but driven to try anyway, he dove over the side. Repeatedly diving and searching underwater, he would surface gasping for air and then dive again before the spots had stopped swimming in his vision.   


It was a long time before he could admit to himself that there was nothing to be found, knowing that to give up would be to recognize the fact that he would never see his friend alive again. Finally, weak and beginning to shiver with exhaustion, he acknowledged to himself that he would not find what he was looking for and stroked slowly to the stern of the _Riptide_. After resting briefly, he hauled himself aboard and went forward, to sit on the bow and stare at the empty water for the few hours left of the day. 

As the sun went down he stirred again, stiff and cold, moving with the slow deliberation of an automaton rather than his usual alert pace. The trip back to King Harbor was one of the longest he had ever made.

***   
  


  


Murray wasn't at the pier when he reached it, having gotten tired of waiting and gone off in search of dinner. Nick was just as glad not to have to face him with the news right away, and after docking he took the Vette and headed straight to the police station.   


Quinlan was in his usual mood when Nick was ushered into his office. Not looking up from the stack of reports he was scribbling signatures on, he demanded, "What now, Ryder? Where's that idiot sidekick of yours this time, out setting up some new wild goose chase for you to send the department on?"   


"No, Lieutenant, he's not," Nick replied, sinking into the chair opposite the desk.   


His strangely subdued answer caught Quinlan's attention like no smart remark would have and he looked up sharply, assessing the younger man's depressed, haggard look. "What do you want, then?" he asked, curious despite himself.   


"You know those reports of piracy between here and Catalina?"   


"Of course I do, and that's a matter for the Maritime Patrol, not the King Harbor Police. What does that have to do with anything?"   


The insulting near-dismissal went right past Nick, who continued in the same low, flat tone, "We were hired by an insurance company to look into it. This afternoon we met with the bunch responsible and there was a fight at sea. They got away afterward, but in the fight, Cody was shot and fell overboard." His voice was growing rougher, but he finished his story, staring stonily ahead. "He didn't come back up. I'm turning myself in, since I was the one that shot him."   


"You what?" His sneer of disbelief slowly faded as he took in the rigid set of Nick's shoulders and his air of resigned defeat. The two private eyes and their geek friend had played him for a fool any number of times, but this didn't sound like one of their gags, and Nick certainly didn't look like he was joking.   


"I killed Cody Allen."   


Quinlan took in his flat statement with skepticism. "And you want me to lock you up? With no body, no motive, no evidence at all and you expect me to be stupid enough to book you for it? What do I look like? Get out of my office and quit wasting my time."   


Nick looked at him numbly, not really registering that his arch-nemesis didn't want to throw him in jail immediately. He was too lost in his own pain to hear any of the undertones that might have been present in the lieutenant's voice. 

"Go on, get out! Come back when you have something to substantiate this fantasy of yours. I've got better things to do than track down your forever disappearing corpses and murderers." He went back to the reports, deliberately ignoring Nick until he heard his door close quietly behind the departing investigator. Then he leaned back, tapping his pen thoughtfully on the desk. It was clear Ryder believed himself responsible for his friend's death, or more correctly, disappearance, and Quinlan was surprised at his own reaction to the news. Over the past few months, though they traded the same insults, they had also begun to exchange slight favors, and he suddenly discovered that he would be genuinely sorry if this didn't turn out to be some prank.

***

  


There were lights on when he returned to the _Riptide_ , Murray having gotten there ahead of him. The prospect of explaining the events of the afternoon held no appeal whatsoever for Nick, but he knew it would have to be done soon, while he could still speak around the images crowding his mind and demanding attention.   


With the darkness of night outside, the gaping holes where the windows used to be were accentuated, making the damage look worse than it had in light of day. The floor was littered with broken glass and the splintered remains of the frames and blinds, and the paneling was scarred with bullet holes. Murray was sweeping the glass up, gingerly picking up the larger pieces and filling several brown grocery bags with the scrap wood. He looked up when Nick came in and asked the obvious question.   


"What happened?" He got a good look at Nick's expression and asked the second question, the one Nick had been dreading. "Where's Cody? He's OK, isn't he?"   


"No, Murray, he's not." It occurred to him that he had used the same phrase to Quinlan's first question not very long ago, and he wondered how many more times he would have to make the same cold, condemning confession. "We found them, they attacked us, and in the fight Cody was shot and fell overboard. He never came back up." _Does he have to know the whole truth? It'll come out before long anyway, might as well be me that tells him._ "I was the one who shot him."   


As Nick spoke, Murray's look went slowly from mild worry to bewildered shock. It was plain he couldn't really believe what he was hearing, but had no choice either. Groping behind himself for the edge of the table, his eyes fixed on Nick's face, he said weakly, "How?"   


It was the same question he had been asking himself all evening. "I don't know!" he cried, "I was aiming for the creep about to slit his throat and I got hit the same time I fired. I looked for him, I tried, I tried..." His voice was beginning to crack, the strain he hadn't given into before finally overcoming his control. "He was gone!" Catching himself abruptly, he closed his eyes and finished the story painfully. "When I couldn't find him, I waited a long time, then came back here and went to Quinlan. He refused to do anything at all about it." He crossed to the table and sat down, laying his forehead on his arms. "I suppose I should be grateful he didn't lock me up."   


Still baffled by the suddenness of the disaster, Murray sat across from him, too stunned to say anything more.   


The silence stretched out, the only sounds Nick's uneven breathing and the normal harbor background coming in through the broken windows. Finally, Murray whispered, "Are you sure?"   


Nick's only answer was to raise his head and stare at him, letting the horror in his eyes speak for him.   


Instinctively responding, Murray reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder. The muscles were knotted with tension, Nick's whole body strung so tightly that Boz could feel a subliminal vibration as he touched him. "Look, why don't you try and get some rest? It's been a long, bad day, maybe a little sleep will help you deal with things." 

Though he didn't look at all like he believed it, Nick nodded and tried to smile reassuringly. The result only succeeded in making him look even more miserable and Murray's grip tightened briefly before releasing him.

  


***  


  


He lay staring at the ceiling for a long time, missing the quiet sound of Cody's breathing from the other bunk. The silence had a hollowness to it that he couldn't define, but it was different from the times Cody had merely been elsewhere. Eventually he recognized the change. Finality. This was the way it would be from now on, there was no other possibility any longer. He was alone.   


It took a long time, but exhaustion inevitably caught up with him and he slipped into a restless sleep. Not long afterward, he was wide awake again, his own cry of terror ringing in his ears as he sat bolt upright, heart pounding wildly from the vision that had visited him.   


"Nick? Are you all right?" Boz knocked at the door, then opened it cautiously. "I heard you call, is something the matter?"   


"I killed him," Nick said softly, his voice loaded with self-loathing. He drew his knees up and rested his face against them, arms wrapped around his shins. Huddled in a ball of utter misery, he moaned quietly, "My God, I killed my best friend, how can I live with that?"   


"You don't know that for sure," Murray protested, coming into the room and sitting beside him. "He could have been shot by one of those crooks from the other side at the same time you fired, there's no way to prove it was your fault."   


"Yeah, until his body washes up on the beach so they can do a ballistics check, I'm fine," he said bitterly, then choked at the thought of Cody lying pale at the high water mark on some deserted beach. "Oh, my God, my God, I killed him, I can't stand it, I can't..." He rocked slightly, unable to contain his anguish motionless.   


Murray felt a deep concern for Nick, strong enough to hold his own sorrow at bay for the moment. After having lived with them, he had some inkling of the special bond shared between the two men, and he knew with complete certainty that he shouldn't leave Nick alone right now. "Nick, please, don't do this to yourself. Even if it was your bullet, it was an _accident_ , nobody believes you could deliberately hurt Cody." 

"What difference does it make? He's dead, and I killed him." Nick's voice was full of such pain that Murray's sight blurred with rising tears and his throat tightened as the reality of Cody's death sank in past the subconscious barrier of disbelief that not having seen it for himself had erected. It had been too hard to imagine what day-to-day life would be like without the continual friendly sniping that Nick and Cody engaged in. Even more than that he now missed Cody's ability to reach through Nick's moods and calm the volatile and expressive third of their partnership. 

In the end it made no difference; this was one loss no degree of comfort from another friend could mitigate. Nick continued to rock, lost in the depths of his grief, and Murray could only hold him silently, letting him know he did not cry alone. 

***

  


Much later, Nick finally slipped back into an exhausted sleep and Murray silently left him, closing the door gently behind himself. Seeing the ruin of the main salon was still a shock, and since he was not feeling particularly sleepy yet, he sat down at the table to make a list of people to call in the morning to get repairs started. He was willing to bet that Nick would not feel up to doing it, regardless of what they might save on labor costs.   


Digging through the pile of magazines next to the TV for the yellow pages, he found an amazing collection of back issues of TV Guide, and a paperback book of poetry that he remembered seeing Cody reading. The sudden picture of Cody lounging on the deck with the book and a cold beer superimposed on Nick's image of him lying dead in the surf on some deserted beach, and his eyes filled abruptly. The book offered a diversion and he opened it at random, scanning the verse in search of a new mental picture to replace the ones that hurt so badly.   


  


> Swifter far than summer's flight,   
Swifter far than youth's delight,   
Swifter far than happy night,   
  
As the earth when leaves are dead,   
As the night when sleep is sped,   
As the heart when joy is fled,   
I am left lone, alone.

>   


_Alone_... Even more so than Nick, because he was there for Nick, but had no one at all to lean on in turn. The unfairness of suddenly being required to provide enough strength to sustain unaided not just one, but both survivors, washed through him. It left in its wake a bitter feeling of the futility of all his acquired knowledge and reputation, none of which was any help at all when he needed a place to turn for emotional support. And behind it all, the over-riding feeling of loss the verse had brought back into focus. 

Checking the cover of the book, he found that it contained the work of a Percy Bysshe Shelley. It occurred to him that if all of the poems were as melancholy as that one, it would be a good idea to remove it before Nick found it. Skipping a few pages ahead, he tried another one.

  


> Alas! I have nor hope nor health,   
Nor peace within nor calm around;   
Nor that content, surpassing wealth,   
The sage in meditation found,   
And walked with inward glory crowned;   
Nor fame nor power nor love nor leisure.   
Others I see whom these surround--   
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;--   
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.   
Yet now despair itself is mild,   
Even as the winds and waters are;   
I could lie down like a tired child,   
And weep away the life of care   
Which I have borne and yet must bear,--   
Till death like sleep might steal on me,   
And I might feel in the warm air   
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea   
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

>   


The book fell from his nerveless fingers and he stared unseeing at the shattered windows. It seemed to him that the words might have been written specifically to describe Nick's feelings, and the wish to leave it behind reminded him forcibly of the whispered question, _How can I live with that_? It was true Nick had often been called a survivor, but Murray began to wonder how much of that ability to bounce back from adversity had been based on Cody's ability to show him that there was always a reason to keep trying. With Cody gone, what were the chances that Nick would be capable of finding that justification for an optimistic outlook? 

And if he couldn't? Murray was no longer sure that he could predict what Nick might do, and certain that there were a few precautions it might be wise to take. After a quick trip to his room for a set of screwdrivers, he left the _Riptide_ with a flashlight. He returned less than an hour later with an additional collection of small metal parts which he carefully hid in his room before resuming his clean-up plans.

  
***  


  


Cody came to with a pounding headache and the inside of his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dirty socks. The second thing he noticed was that he had been tied to a chair in a small, bare concrete room. This pretty much eliminated the bad hangover theory he had been entertaining. The last thing he remembered clearly was the fight on the _Riptide_ , and he concentrated on recalling the sequence of events, trying to find some clue as to how he had gotten from there to where ever he was now.   


There had been that one guy with a knife, then a sharp pain in his side. In the middle of a pitched battle with armed opponents the probability of getting shot was fairly high, and he had glanced down at himself with a sort of fatalistic curiosity about the extent of the damage. He had only had time to start feeling surprise at finding the small tranquilizer dart instead of a bleeding hole below his ribs, when the dizzying blackness had come.   


_I've been drugged and kidnapped_? He looked around himself again, but he was the sole occupant of the cell. _Where's Nick, then_?   


An executive trailed by two underlings entered the room. "Well, fancy meeting you here," he said, in a voice that oozed with malevolence under its pleasant tones. Though his hair was still dark, it was thinning at the temples, and while his features were still sharp, they had begun to soften with age and decadent living. Twenty years ago his deep brown eyes would have attracted many admiring feminine glances, but now there was something subtly sinister about his manner.   


Cody recognized him instantly. "Harrison Crawford," he said. "It's been a long time. I should have figured you were behind this, it's too disgusting to be anybody else's plan."   


Crawford smiled mirthlessly. "Brave words from someone who's tied to a chair in an unknown building. But you always had far too much bravado for your own good. Or mine. How much do you know?" he demanded.   


"About what?"   


"Don't give me the innocent act, you must have figured it out by now. Or perhaps not... I wonder how much you _do_ know."   


"Wouldn't you like to know."   


"Stubborn as always," Crawford said, smiling that smile again. "But I'm sure I can find some way to \- ensure your cooperation, shall we say?"   


Inwardly, Cody shivered. He had heard the rumors about Crawford -how the man enjoyed others' pain, considered torture an art form.   


"I'll have to work on it, I'm afraid I don't have the equipment here now."   


"I'm surprised you let a little thing like that stop you," Cody said sarcastically, then immediately realized he'd made a mistake when he saw the look in Crawford's eyes.   


"On the other hand, one can always... improvise." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a monogrammed gold cigarette lighter, then flicked the lever with his thumb and adjusted the flame to its full height. "Amazing what modern technology can come up with, isn't it?" He brought the lighter to within millimeters of Cody's face.   


Cody froze, willing himself to stay absolutely still as he felt the heat. He knew that if he moved even the slightest bit, the flame would burn his nose or lips. He closed his eyes as he smelled his mustache beginning to singe.   


"It would be a shame if my hand was to suddenly become unsteady, wouldn't it?" He paused, then regretfully lowered the lighter. "No, I'm afraid it's just too crude for me. Aesthetics are still important to some of us."   


This time, Cody wisely kept his opinion on that to himself.   


Turning and snapping his fingers, Crawford was immediately flanked by the two hired hoods, who were dressed in matching thug suits. One was the typical enforcer type, endowed with an overabundance of muscles in compensation for a shortage of power upstairs. The only touch of color was an orange handkerchief in the breast pocket of the other, who was quite different, slender, with dark hair and a beard, but much more intelligence and subdued compassion in his eyes than was in keeping with his occupation. Cody wondered briefly what hidden perverse mental twist enabled him to work for Crawford. _Probably just an abnormally bright sadist,_ Cody thought, then shifted his attention to the orders his captor was giving the henchmen.   


"...and it seems that Mr. Allen does not want to cooperate. I find this most distressing. I have a few business matters to attend to first, then we shall see about convincing our friend here to open his heart to us. Bring all the portable persuasive methods over from the house." He turned to the smaller of the two thugs and continued, "You will be in attendance, Walters, I insist. There will be no need for you elsewhere. Do you understand?" 

Cody noted that the nodded reply seemed reluctant, and suppressed a shudder as his mind instantly began manufacturing a series of reasons, each more gruesome than the last, to explain why the hood would not want to be present. _If his fellow sadists can't even stand to watch..._

***

  


That night and most of the next day passed in a slow moving fog for the remaining occupants of the _Riptide_. Curious as to how far they were going to carry the story, Quinlan stopped by intending to ask a few caustic questions. The silent, apathetic red-eyed stares that greeted him told more than any heated verbal exchange could have, and after a quiet talk with Murray he left without using any of the barbed comments he had prepared.   


Toward evening, Nick remembered a responsibility that could not be put off. "His mother," he said suddenly to Murray, "I have to call his mother." He rose and moved to the phone, then stood with one hand on it, head bowed as he tried to compose some way of telling her what had happened.   


"You don't have to put yourself through this, Nick, Quinlan said he'd do it," Murray said.   


"No, I should, it's my fault, I ought to be the one to tell her." He looked up the number and dialed it quickly, before he could lose his nerve. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Allen? It's Nick." _Now what do I say? "Sorry, your son's dead and I'm the one who killed him? How am I supposed to tell her?"_   


Somehow, mothers always know when something's wrong.   


"Yeah, it's about Cody..." _Oh, God, I can't tell her, at least not everything, not over the phone, but I'd better come out and say it fast while I still can._ "He's... he's dead, he got shot yesterday afternoon, we were out at sea working on a case and these guys jumped us and..." Nick's voice finally broke. _He was all she had left._   


Murray gently lifted the phone from his hand. "Mrs. Allen, this is Murray Bozinsky, Cody's friend. I'm terribly sorry, I know that doesn't help much... No, we don't know all the details yet, the boat that attacked them got away afterward. The police are helping, and we'll keep you informed, all right? We grieve with you. Goodbye." He hung up quietly.   


"Thanks," Nick said hoarsely, "I couldn't... I just..." His voice failed again and, unable to finish the sentence, he waved helplessly toward the phone.   


"Yeah, look, I know you're feeling pretty bad about all this, but maybe some work would help keep your mind occupied for a while. If this had anything to do with the case we were on, there must be some details the cops won't know that might make a difference. Why don't we start an investigation of our own?" When Nick nodded agreement, Murray led the way back down to his room and warmed up the computer.   


"OK, what was the name of the boat that attacked you? We can start with its registration and ownership, crew records, and maybe run down a location on somebody."   


"It was the _Arcadia_ , out of Alviso. I remember thinking that was a heck of a long way for a heap like that to come just to pirate other boats."   


"Great," and in a few minutes Boz had the registration records for it up on the screen. "It's owned by a corporation based in Long Beach. That's strange, why would anybody in Long Beach want to own a boat in Alviso?"   


"I don't know, maybe they vacation up there."   


"Nick, have you ever been to Alviso? Nobody goes to Alviso for a vacation."   


"Oh, and you've been there?"   


"Well, actually, through it. See, it's right on the edge of the Silicon Valley area and..."   


"Yeah, OK, I believe you. So maybe it's a dummy operation, who owns the company in Long Beach?"   


The trail led through a long string of holding companies, umbrella corporations, and intricate stock deals that took the two of them over three hours to sort out. Finally, one name emerged as the main power behind the myriad corporations. "Harrison Crawford? That ring a bell with you at all?"   


Nick thought about it carefully, then shook his head. "Nah, it sounds vaguely familiar but I can't think where I've heard of him. What's his background?"   


Through the IRS records and a check on other files, they soon had a picture of the true owner of the _Arcadia_. Though many of his companies had been indicted for various illegal operations, and an occasional conviction made against one of the major stockholders, Crawford himself had never been officially involved. It wasn't hard to read between the lines, and Nick and Murray soon came to the conclusion that Crawford was not only criminally inclined, but incredibly clever about avoiding any direct association with operations he was involved in.   


"So what is somebody as rich as this dude is doing running a small scale piracy out here? There has to be more going on than that, it doesn't make sense otherwise. And this guy is too smart to be in it just for yucks."   


"I agree, Nick, but where do we start looking? From the record on him, it could be anything at all, from drug smuggling to political assassination."   


"I don't know," Nick sat back dejectedly for a moment, then snapped up again. "Wait a minute, political assassination? Wasn't one of the first boats to be reported missing the one that guy running for mayor owned? Him and his whole family went out one weekend and never came back."   


"Yes, that's true, but if he was the target, why did they hang around so long after they got him?"   


"Establish an alibi. Or maybe, there's another target they're waiting for a chance at. If it's this upcoming election, they've got another month to try for the other candidates. See if any of them own boats."   


As it turned out, none of the remaining mayoral candidates had boats, but both of those running for police chief did, along with three of the city council.   


"That doesn't help much, it could just be coincidence that first one was attacked."   


"No, Murray, I've got a feeling about this. The Coast Guard has been after those guys since boats started disappearing and never even got a glimpse of them, and the first day we go out looking around we run smack into 'em. They had to have been laying for us. That means they're trying to cover something we must have been getting close to, even if we didn't know it." He paused and thought about the implications. "So why didn't they sink the _Riptide_ , or kill me too? It's odd that as soon as Cody... went over, they practically ran off. That doesn't fit the MO at all."   


"Do you suppose they only wanted to get Cody out of the way then? What would he know that you or I wouldn't? And why go to so much trouble when Crawford has enough clout to just order a regular hit on him?"   


"I don't know." For something that was supposed to take his mind off recent events, this was not working well at all. Spending so much time speculating on the reasons for Cody's death was only serving to remind him how it had happened. Nick stood abruptly and left, muttering that he needed some fresh air. 

Looking after him sadly, Murray realized what the direction their conversation had taken had done. It was not surprising, he reflected, that everything they said or did lately seemed to lead back to Cody. What bothered him was the way Nick continued to blame himself for what was at most an unfortunate accident. Maybe if they could prove that Crawford had been the ultimate instigator behind it, Nick would let go some of his belief that it had been all his fault. That hope made it worth the effort, and Murray turned back to the computer, determined to find out everything there was to know about Harrison Crawford and his operations in the area.

***

  


It had started out fairly simply. Crawford expressed a belief in the theory that before any real progress could be made, the subject should be 'warmed up', so to speak. This was the larger thug's cue to beat Cody nearly senseless. To Cody's surprise, the one he had thought more likely to be one of Crawford's fellow sadists turned out to be reticent about participating; even when directly ordered to, his blows fell lightly enough to go unnoticed.   


"Destroys the concentration, the ability to ignore the more subtle varieties of pain, you see," Crawford explained. "Personally, I find it a bit crude, but the results are what's important, after all."   


The "more subtle" varieties were not, in Cody's view, all that subtle. He was kept under control by the frequent use of an electric stunner and through it all Crawford continued to question what he knew. Since he didn't know anything, he couldn't answer, nor could he convince his captors that they weren't going to get anything out of him. His world narrowed down to the struggle to survive each session, to occupy his mind with the hope that Nick couldn't be far from finding and rescuing him. Even that was eventually taken away.   


"I'm getting a little bit bored with this," Crawford sighed languidly. "Perhaps we should try another approach. Something more... original, shall we say?"   


From the floor, Cody glared at him defiantly. Though he couldn't move yet, he still managed to convey resistance. "I don't have anything to say," he forced out through his teeth.   


"We'll see, we'll see." Waving one of his henchmen closer, Crawford whispered into his ear, then sat back smiling benevolently at Cody. "You'll like this, I think," he confided. "It's simple, easy, painful..." He no longer seemed as interested in the questions he had asked earlier as he was in applying methods to bring forth the answers even he plainly realized were not forthcoming.   


Panting, Cody blinked through the hair falling across his eyes. Though the gritty concrete floor was cool on his bare skin, sweat was beading on his forehead, blurring his vision periodically as it ran down. "I already told you, you're wasting your time."   


"That may well be, but at least I'm enjoying myself." Crawford smiled broadly. "Ennui is the curse of the upper classes, don't you know. Ah, here we are."   


The thug reentered carrying a small box and a medium jar half full of greenish-yellow liquid in which several darker green objects floated. Crawford took the jar, twisted the lid off, and sniffed delicately at the contents. "Picante! Excellent, I do prefer that to plain kosher. Now, the blades?"   


_You've got to be kidding_ , Cody thought numbly. _But then again, he's having too much fun to bother psyching me out besides_.   


Taking the small box, Crawford opened it and extracted a single-edged razor. "Observe," he lectured as he unwrapped the cardboard from the sharp edge, relishing Cody's unbelieving stare, "how even the most prosaic of experiences can be given new intensity by the application of only a small amount of consideration. The paper cut, for example. Surely you've had several? Ah, I see by your expression you are aware of my train of thought." He chuckled and gestured for Cody to be lifted back into the chair. "So cutting is the edge that the full knowledge of injury often does not come for hours, but then..." he smiled almost ecstatically. "And should one encounter an additional irritant, say, oh, pickle juice? You _are_ following me!" he exclaimed delightedly as Cody flinched involuntarily.   


"You're sick," Cody said, the dryness in his throat making his voice rough. "You can't get away with this."   


Crawford laughed delightedly. "And who do you think is going to stop me? Your friends, perhaps? They believe you're already beyond help. That reminds me, though, I did want you to see this." He pulled a folded newspaper page from an inside pocket and carefully smoothed it out. Handing it to the nearer of his employees, he watched closely as it was held where Cody could read it.   


Blinking to clear the film on his eyes induced by the thick haze from Crawford's cigarettes, Cody was unable to maintain his feigned disinterest in anything his tormentor might show him as he read the heading on the clipping: Local PI Kills Partner.   


Under the subheading "Claims Murder of Friend Accidental" were a couple short paragraphs covering his own disappearance, and it was clear from the reports that even though the body hadn't been recovered yet, he was believed to be dead. The real import of it sank in as he read further, to the few lines that explained how the surviving partner admitted full responsibility.   


"Nick Ryder stated in his report, filed at the King Harbor Police Department, that he fired at one of the attackers but was jostled at the time, causing him to shoot his friend and partner instead. No motive for a deliberate killing has been uncovered and Mr. Ryder remains free on his own recognizance at this time."   


_Nick thinks he killed me himself_? Stunned by the implications, Cody whispered, "Oh, my God," then instantly regretted the lapse as Crawford broke into another satisfied smirk.   


"I thought that might make your day," he said. "Now, on a lighter note, to keep your mind off your friend's misery, and I assure you, he _is_ miserable, my two friends here will indulge their artistic instincts by sketching a few line drawings across your anatomy. Boys?"   


To Cody's surprise, the less sadistic of the two subordinates stepped back, refusing the proferred razor blade. "I'm not feeling artistic today, sir."   


"Being difficult again, Walters? Do you want George to have all the fun?" Crawford's inquiry was more of a taunt than a demand.   


Eyes downcast, Walters shrugged and backed to stand against the wall in the shadows. 

"It's so hard to get good help these days," Crawford observed to Cody. "Very well, George, you may proceed." Sitting back and lighting another cigarette, he watched through half-closed eyes, smiling faintly with undisguised pleasure as Cody clenched his jaw and shivered slightly at the first feather touch of the razor. 

***

  


It took several hours that seemed much longer than days to Cody before Crawford finally tired of the sport and decreed a rest break. Trailing smoke and a musky hint of his expensive cologne, he strolled out of the room without a backward glance at what had been done at his orders.   


Shrugging, the two thugs untied Cody and let him fall into a limp pile on the floor. "Shouldn't we feed him something?" asked the smaller, dark-haired one who had refused to participate. "It's been a couple days since you brought him in, I wouldn't want to get chewed out if he starved to death on us."   


"You're right. We never were told to, but the old man is always carping on personal initiative. When he isn't having fun." The second glanced around, then laughed. "Hey, no problem, there's still three pickles in the jar. He can eat those when he comes around." Pleased with the elegant simplicity of the solution, he chuckled, prodding Cody with one foot. "I don't think he'll need to worry about eating for much longer anyway, the boss is starting to get bored with him, and you know what that means."   


"Yes, I do," replied the first, somewhat subdued.   


"Whatsa matter with you, Walters, feeling sorry for him?" sneered the larger. "Maybe I should tell our employer you don't like the way he's treating your _friend_ here, hmm?" He squinted suspiciously at Walters, who shrugged with forced nonchalance.   


"No, I don't know him, I just thought if we kept him alive a little longer he might be of more use, that's all." Carefully picking up the scattered razor blades, he ignored his compatriot who continued to glare, then finally accepted the explanation and shrugged to indicate it made no difference to him either. They left together, locking the door behind them.   


Some time later, Cody rolled over to lie on his back, staring at the lone naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. It hurt, all over, in a constantly shifting pattern that followed the lines of the shallow incisions that covered his upper body. He knew for certain that Crawford no longer expected to learn anything from him and was only keeping him alive as a toy; this sort of abuse could not have been seriously intended as an inducement to talk, it was inflicted on him only for the enjoyment of Crawford. He didn't try to stop the tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes. They were the simple result of exhaustion, hunger, and constant pain. And he knew what Nick was going through, as well. That hurt far worse than anything else Crawford and his underlings had done to him.   


The door opened again, but Cody didn't bother to look up. No doubt it was just Mr. Fun, back again with another of his sick ideas.   


It wasn't Crawford, it was the quieter of his two thugs.   


"Roll over," Walters ordered.   


"Make me," Cody managed to say.   
Walters just sighed. "Crawford's right, you are stubborn." He rolled Cody over with surprising gentleness and began applying some liquid to the cuts on his back.   


"What's that?" Cody asked, curious despite his condition.   


"What's it feel like?"   


Cody didn't reply immediately, then he felt a sensation he'd almost forgotten: the absence of pain. "Anesthetic?" he croaked.   


"Bingo. OK, other side."   


Cody rolled over and regarded the other man suspiciously. "This is another one of Good Time Harry's sick little tricks, isn't it? Kill the pain so I can stand some more of his 'interesting diversions'?"   


"No, it's not, though I can see how you'd think that. It's my idea."   


"So this is how you get your jollies, huh?"   


The man stopped and glared. "Look, I don't know how I'm going to make you believe me, but I'm trying to help you."   


"Why?"   


"Well... want to hear the story of my life?"   


"Do I have a choice?"   


Walters smiled faintly. "Nope. My name is Doug, by the way. I was in med school until rather recently, when Crawford decided he wanted me to work for him. I didn't want to. He makes me sick."   


"So..."   


"So why am I here? Well, for one thing, Torquemada made a few threats toward a certain quiet elderly couple... who just happen to be my parents. For another thing, he's got some videotape of me in a... compromising situation."   


"So if you didn't cooperate..."   


"First, he releases the videotape. Then, if that doesn't work, he kills my parents, in one of his slow degenerate ways. Then, my sister, and her husband, and my niece." Doug resumed applying the anesthetic, and kept talking, in a tightly controlled voice. "So, here I am. But I've been doing what I can to get at him from the inside. Little things, minor annoyances, as long as he can't trace it to me. And I hate the things he does, and I hate myself for watching him do them.   


"I was going to be a doctor, because I hate seeing people suffer." He smiled ironically. "Of course Crawford knows that, so he makes me watch whenever he tortures somebody, and he makes me help.   


"And I've had enough, and I couldn't stand around and watch him do this to you any more, and I'm going to do what I can to keep him from killing you. And I think I know a way to get you out of here."   


"How?"   


"I'm still working on it. But promise me, please, when you do get out, stop him?"   


"You can bet on that."   


"OK. And I'll try to find out as much as I can about this latest scheme of his for you. Can you sit up?"   


"With some help." Doug helped Cody to sit up and then gave him a drink out of a canteen he'd brought.   


"I've got some soup in this thermos, you want it?" 

"Stupid question." Cody looked closely at the other man. It was still possible that this was all part of one of Crawford's elaborate schemes, but he felt that what he'd said was true, and he ought to trust him. _Like I have a choice_? "Thanks... Doug."

***

  


> Sleepless are the hours and lonely is the night  
> For the poor tormented soul who is searching for the light  
> The moment I opened my eyes I knew from the silence  
> That something was wrong  
> Turning, I realized I wanted to cry  
> When I knew I was alone...

_He was back on the deck during the fight and everything was moving in slow motion, like a bad special effect. Up front he could see Cody and the anonymous thug wrestling, the knife edging closer to Cody's throat, and he took careful aim at the pirate. But as if it had a will of its own, his gun swung to aim directly at Cody and he watched with growing horror, unable to stop himself from pulling the trigger. In the half-speed world of the dream, he had time to realize what was happening, to look up and see Cody turn toward him and smile. And then the gun would fire, leaving echoes repeating in his ears that drowned all other sound as he saw the bright blood suddenly stain Cody's chest. His smile would change to a bewildered look of pain and he silently asked "Why?" before swaying with the gentle rocking of the Riptide, folding over himself and falling slowly toward the water._

  


The dream was the same one every time, but familiarity made it no more bearable. Nick would wake himself with his own cry of horror and lie there panting, feeling the tears that always came with it slide into his ears, the last image burned into his waking memory as well. The empty room was never a comfort and he took to avoiding it, staying awake as long as he could and then dropping into an exhausted doze on the bench upstairs, sometimes taking a pillow over to the _Mimi_ and sleeping a few hours at a time there.   


It took its toll on him, leaving him perpetually fighting the sluggish reactions and short temper lack of sleep brought. After a few unsuccessful tries at convincing him to take better care of himself, Murray appeared to give in and leave him alone; but Nick wasn't quite so submerged in his own misery that he didn't notice there was always something fresh and tempting in the fridge, or how when he did manage to fall asleep, it was extraordinarily quiet until he awoke.   


The news of Cody's loss was soon known throughout the harbor, though neither Nick nor Murray had made any formal announcement. It seemed as if they, and everybody else, were hoping that if no official acknowledgement was made, it wouldn't be true. But as the days became first one week and then another with no change, no evidence one way or another, Cody's name was spoken less frequently among his acquaintances, and increasingly in the past tense. Life returned to normal for most of the harbor residents.   


Not so for the _Riptide_ Detective Agency. Every day Nick spent long hours tailing Harrison Crawford, trying to discern some pattern in his movements. Murray queried every computer record collection he could gain access to, searching for some motive or link to their own earlier actions. Each night they compared efforts, trying to fit their respective results together into some cohesive outline. It continued to elude them, and Murray's hopes of finding an explanation that could help soothe Nick's guilt faded with each new failure. 

Without conscious intent, Murray found himself taking over many of the household chores as Nick continued to singlemindedly pursue Crawford. One day as Murray was putting away the groceries from his latest shopping trip, Nick wandered through and stopped to help, albeit half-heartedly. Boz was quieter than usual, enough so that Nick noticed the change and inquired what had happened at the store. Murray just shook his head silently and finished clearing the counter, then headed back toward his computers. He didn't want to upset Nick further by explaining that his sudden fit of melancholy had been brought on by a sign at the Lucky's advertising a special on Cornish game hens.

***

  


The only respite Cody has was the all-too-short period at night during which he napped fitfully on the dank concrete floor of his cell. It wasn't long before Crawford remedied that by assigning several more of his less scrupled employees to rotating shifts watching over Cody. Their orders were to keep him awake continuously, and George took particular glee in carrying out his task. With technical expertise Cody would never have suspected him capable of, he stripped the end off a small recharger's cord, leaving the bare wires exposed. Even though Cody evinced no interest whatsoever in the device's sordid history, George happily regaled him with the tale of how he happened to discover that using the outlet's current without a DC converter could be fatal, and his subsequent search for a non-lethal method. Periodically he would plug it in and poke Cody just to watch him twitch and moan.   


After the second or third day, Cody wasn't very sure, he found himself muttering his name, rank, and serial number over and over before he focused on the present enough to realize he was not in a Viet Cong prisoner camp.   


When Crawford came by on an inspection tour one afternoon, George happily demonstrated his toy, receiving polite applause for his efforts, and a suggestion on improving the idea which consisted of applying the current directly to the fillings in Cody's teeth. Although this caused him to scream quite satisfactorily, it also had the undesired side effect of causing him to pass out, and had to be saved for special occasions when Crawford was present to listen. 

A few days of this were sufficient to bore Crawford into declaring it a waste of manpower. Cody tended to pass out before screaming when the voltage was applied, and was too woozy to beg for mercy, had he become inclined to do so. The nightly shifts were withdrawn while Crawford considered his next approach. Breaking Cody had passed from a pleasant hobby to an obsession for him.

***

  


It felt like the middle of the night, though in the windowless room, Cody had no way of telling for certain. He had been able to fall deeply asleep laying on the concrete floor, and hadn't heard anyone approach. The door creaked slightly as it opened and he curled tighter into himself, dreading what could only be another session of entertainment for his captors.   


Instead of the raucous laughter that usually accompanied the opening of his cell door, there were light hurried footsteps and a gentle hand on his shoulder. Flinching automatically, he still looked up in hope. It was Doug, alone and highly agitated.   


"Can you stand? We have to get out now, I've started the fire already and this old building will burn to the ground in minutes. Come on!" Tugging at Cody, he helped him up and then pulled him out the door into the warehouse, supporting most of Cody's weight. Smoke was seeping along the floor and the crackling sound of Doug's diversion was already developing that full throated roar of health that arsonists delight in. Propping Cody momentarily against the wall next to the back exit, Doug checked to make sure no one was in view, then hustled him out the door and into the trunk of a dilapidated Opel parked outside.   


Cramped as it was, the swaying confines of the trunk were more comfortable, the dirty carpeting warmer and softer than anything in his quarters for the past several weeks had been. When Doug reached the house in a run-down neighborhood of Torrance that was all he could afford on the token salary Crawford paid him, he had to wake Cody before helping him inside.   


Cody revived long enough to spend half an hour taking a shower, reluctantly quitting only when the hot water ran out. Dried off and wrapped in the largest of Doug's robes, he sat at the kitchen table and sipped the chicken soup Doug handed him in a mug.   


"Thank you," he said, not sure at the moment whether he was more grateful for his life being saved or for the shower.   


Doug waved it aside, stirring his own soup to cool it. "I can't take Crawford and his torture sessions any longer. If it weren't for my family, I'd turn myself in right now, but I know they'd never survive if I did. This plot he's working on now, though, I'm not sure what it is exactly but he's more deeply involved in it, personally in charge of things, than I've ever seen before. I think together we can get enough hard evidence on him to get him and enough of his cronies put away where they won't be able to do anything about it. Are you willing to help me?"   


"Count on it." His grim look broke into a wide yawn. "Tomorrow. Are you sure it's OK for me to stay here? Won't your boss be suspicious when there's no body found and check up on you?"   


Doug avoided his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Cody didn't quite catch.   


"Come again?" he asked, curious at the sudden reticence.   


"Ah, well, actually, there _is_ a sort of body," Doug said uncomfortably. At Cody's look of incomprehension, he explained. "I used to be a med student, that's one of the reasons Crawford wanted me in his employ. It's more fun to keep one person alive to torture than trying to find new ones all the time," he said bitterly. "Anyhow, I know how the morgue at UCLA works, and if you've heard stories about premed students swiping bodies for pranks, I can assure you they're all true, and then some. I simply liberated next week's lab project and left it in the warehouse. The school will chalk the loss up to another frat prank, and since Crawford doesn't want you identified or linked to him, since he owns the building, there won't be any inquest. Just another dock bum caught in an empty building fire and you remain safely dead."   


"He won't check up on this place?"   


"He doesn't trust me with the really important stuff, but he also believes I won't risk crossing him either. You should be safe here, at least for the short time until we can have him arrested. Don't try to contact your friends on the _Riptide_ , though, I know he's having them watched all the time. He wouldn't hesitate to arrange some accident for them if he thought they had any lead to what he was up to."   


"But..." Cody protested, setting down the cup and trailing behind Doug toward the bedroom, "they think I'm dead! Nick thinks he killed me himself, can't I even let them know I'm all right?"   


"I wouldn't advise it, Cody," he replied, taking a couple extra blankets from the closet. "Do you think they could put on a convincing act of thinking you're dead if they knew you weren't? One slip, and you've all had it, with me as well. I know it's painful for them, but I'm pretty sure it would be a lot safer." He handed the blankets to Cody and gestured to the bed. "Go ahead and lay down, I'll put another coat of the pain killer on your back. You might as well sleep there tonight, I'm going to have to go back to Crawford and report the regrettable loss of the warehouse, and incidentally, his cherished plaything as well. It's not hard to guess which will upset him more. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."   


***

  


It was late the next afternoon before Cody finally woke up and stayed awake longer than it took to turn over. Stretching cautiously, he winced in habitual anticipation of pain, relieved to find that whatever it was Doug had put on his skin last night was still working. Running a hand through his hair to pull it out of his eyes, he padded in the direction of the kitchen to check on the time and start some coffee. As he passed the living room he glanced in, finding Doug curled on the sofa under an afghan.   


Deciding that it was late enough that Doug should be getting up too, Cody poured a second cup of coffee and carried it back with him, set it down on the end table and gently shook Doug's shoulder to wake him. He couldn't suppress a gasp of surprised anger as Doug moaned quietly and rolled over to face him, displaying several darkening bruises along his forehead and the beginnings of a magnificent black eye. He blinked painfully at Cody and then struggled to sit up, moving stiffly as if sporting injuries that didn't show as readily.   


"What happened to you?" Cody asked, steadying him and handing over the cup he had brought.   


"Crawford got a little upset when I gave him the news. I think the phrase 'flew into a rage' would be an apt description. Being around him when he's unhappy is distinctly unhealthy, but running out and giving him time to stew about it is even worse." He sipped carefully at the steaming coffee and grimaced slightly. "He was at one of his favorite private casinos. It was my rotten luck that he was in one of his 'Southern Gentleman' moods and was carrying that heavy cane. I was starting to feel like Lon Chaney Jr. at the end of _The Werewolf._ "   


Cody smiled at the reference, then sobered as he sat down next to Doug. "Does he suspect you?"   


"No, in fact this may work out in our favor. Since I can't run normal duties for him in this condition, he's probably going to assign me to doing some office work for him for the next week or so. That gives me the perfect reason to be in his office and going through the files. If he's got anything at all laying around that ties him into whatever this plot is, I'll be able to find and copy it; then we can anticipate his next move and get some really good dirt on him."   


"What do I do until then?" Cody asked, already dreading the days of inactivity ahead.   


"Recuperate, mainly. Until we get this figured out. Think you can stay inside for a few more days?"   


"If I have to," he grumbled, then sat up suddenly. "Hey, I could call my mother! Nick will have told her what happened, but Crawford isn't going to have her watched, right? As long as she promises not to tell anybody, it would be OK."   


Plainly unhappy about any sort of leak but unable to deny Cody permission, Doug nodded slowly. "Make sure she understands how important it is that nobody else knows. Crawford has ears everywhere and if it got out, he'd know the whole story before long."   


"You don't have to tell _me_ about his contacts," Cody said sharply. "I've seen how he works too, remember?"   


Sitting back and closing his eyes tiredly, Doug said "Yes, I know. Just be careful, all right? We've both got a lot to lose."   


Cody was on the verge of protesting further, then noticed again how beaten Doug looked. The risks he had taken to help somebody he didn't know sank in, and suddenly Cody felt much smaller. He took a deep breath and said ruefully, "You're right. I won't talk to anybody until we've wrapped this up. So let's do it as soon as possible." 

Doug looked over at him in surprise, then smiled gratefully, if a bit lopsidedly. "No argument there, my friend. Shall we start with dinner?"

***

  


Though he hated it, Nick knew there was nobody else who should do it, so that morning he steeled himself and after breakfast, started packing Cody's things into boxes. The only relief he allowed himself were the periodic breaks to walk the pier in search of another box, but even when he found a pile of perfectly suitable empty ones, he only brought back one at a time.   


He started with the closet, figuring it wouldn't be so difficult to fold and store a bunch of clothes, but along with every shirt were the memories of all the times he'd seen Cody wearing it. The subtle, pervasive scent of the aftershave Cody had favored nagged at him continuously.   


Hanging in the rear of the closet was a garment bag, and Nick unzipped it to find Cody's uniform. _It isn't fair. All those years in the Army, surviving the war, and he dies on his own damn boat. Maybe it really is cursed._ The row of ribbons spoke eloquently of the times they had shared overseas and he found himself comparing the fight on the _Riptide_ to others they had been in. The bitter feeling he had come to know so well rose with renewed strength, and settled as an ache deep in his throat.   


The bathroom was a lot easier, as there were hardly enough things in there to fill one box. He did wonder to himself why he was bothering. There was nobody planning to move in that needed the space, but somehow it didn't seem right to just leave everything sitting out as if Cody might return at any minute either. Shrugging mentally, Nick decided to call it a favor to Cody's mother. When the legal formalities eventually finished processing, there would be a number of things for her to take care of that would bring her to the area, and if he could just turn over Cody's effects in a set of boxes at that time, it would be easier on them all.   


That didn't make the task any more pleasant for him. Stacking the boxes he had filled in the emptied closet, he went out for a final box before tackling the dresser and shelves around Cody's bunk that he knew to be stuffed with personal mementos. It was even harder than he had expected. A little while before lunch, Murray looked in and saw him sitting on the bed, holding an antique brass telescope in both hands, staring at it as silent tears ran down his face.   


An hour later, Nick went looking for Murray and found him busy messing with the innards of the Roboz. Nick held up a small key and said, "It's the Agency safe deposit box key. We kept all the official paper stuff there, and I think we're going to need some of it. You wanna come with me?"   


"Sure, Nick," Murray answered, "Let me get this last connection made and then we can go. Hey, how about stopping for something on the way? I'm starved."   


"Umm," Nick said noncommittally, unenthused about the idea of food.   


Even so, Murray was able to coax him into a light snack from their favorite restaurant on the pier. On the way to the bank, Nick got quieter and quieter, finally speaking only in monosyllables and letting Murray request the admittance form at the bank. His signature was such a scrawl that the teller checked it twice against the record before having the box brought over to them.   


After a brief moment of hesitation, Nick lifted the lid. Inside was a small pile of official-looking papers with ornate engraved headings identifying them. There were a few stock certificates in some large companies, the titles to the Jimmy, _Ebbtide_ and _Riptide_ , the expected insurance policy, and a will. Glancing at Murray, he pulled out the policy and will and handed them over. Boz tucked them in an inside jacket pocket, and leaving the rest of the stack alone, they returned the box and left the bank.   


When they got back to the boat, Nick headed straight for the coffee maker and started it going. He seemed to be living on the stuff lately, though it took more and more of it to get him through each day. Murray sat down and took the folded pages out of his pocket, looking through the insurance policy first. "Nothing surprising," he said, "the main beneficiary is his mother, with you listed second. I think it would be best if we just turned this over to her when she comes out, don't you?"   


"Yeah, I guess." Disinclined to discuss it, Nick wasn't really paying attention.   


Unfolding the will curiously, Murray grabbed at a small envelope that fell out of it, but missed and had to pick it up off the floor. "It's for you," he said, holding it out so Nick could see his name written across the front of it.   


"What? Where'd this come from?" he asked, taking it slowly, knowing the answer as soon as he recognized the handwriting.   


"It was in this," Boz said a bit uncomfortably, holding the will. "I thought it might be a good idea to scan it, in case there was something we needed to know. It feels like prying, though."   


"I don't suppose it makes a lot of difference now," Nick said abstractly. "You can't keep a lot of secrets once you're..." Closing his eyes in pain at the thought, he asked quietly, "What does it say?"   


Passing quickly over the initial legalese opening paragraph, he said, "It looks like he names both of us as owners of his share in the agency, with title to all jointly held property. As to his personal stuff, there are a couple mementos to family; and the rest, including the two boats and any unaccounted-for items, goes to you."   


"I never wanted his boats," Nick said miserably.   


"You don't think this will give Quinlan the idea you, well, deliberately..." It was too absurd a notion for him to voice, but he'd had enough experience with Quinlan's sometimes totally unreasonable prejudices against them to know that it was a distinct possibility. "He hates you enough to decide that's a motive, you know. At least, I thought he did."   


"I thought so too, but he hasn't arrested me yet, I don't know why. Maybe he wants those pirates as badly as we do, and figures I've got an incentive to find them." He looked up from the envelope he was still holding, unopened. "I don't really care any more."   


Murray nodded, then asked, "You want some aspirin?" when Nick paused and rubbed at his forehead, suddenly looking very tired.   


"Nah, maybe I'll just lay down for a while. Aspirin don't seem to help any more, you know?" He smiled weakly and set down the half empty cup of coffee he had started. "I'm probably immune to them by now." Patting Murray on the shoulder absently as he passed, he headed for the back.   


Boz watched him go, then leaned back, a sadly thoughtful expression on his face. He hadn't mentioned that Cody had left his beloved Jimmy to him, and he wondered if he would ever be able to enjoy driving it again.   


Nick descended the stairs and dropped wearily onto his bed. The headache was still with him, as it had been continuously for the last week; an omnipresent deadening pain that dulled his whole outlook. He was almost grateful to it for keeping his mind too fogged to reflect very deeply on the afternoon. _Cody..._ With a twinge of pain he noticed the letter he was still holding, his name printed neatly on the envelope in Cody's angular hand. 

He stared at it for a long time before he could bring himself to open it, then finally ripped it open rather than think about it any longer.

  
Dear Nick,  


It's corny as hell, but if you're reading this, I must be dead. I already regret having to write this, I wish I could have found the time or the nerve or the words to tell you this before. But when you're alive, there's always some way to put it off, telling a friend how important he is never seems very necessary when he's there all the time. This letter may be a rotten way to say it, but I didn't want to have lived so close to you for so long and not let you know that you are the best friend I've ever had. My life would have been pretty boring and lonely if you hadn't come along for the ride with me.   


It's hard to say goodbye gracefully, you ever notice that? However I died, I hope it was quick, or fun, or she was pretty, or that it was for a good cause. I know you'll make sure it wasn't for nothing. I hope it was for you, Nick.   


Hell, now I'm getting maudlin. Have a beer for me, watch a ball game, chase a few girls. Take care of yourself, and Murray, and think of me once in a while. And when you think of me, just remember that I loved you. 

Cody

Even before he reached the last line, Nick's eyes had filled so that he could hardly see to read. He looked up away from those last words, and the empty other half of the room faced him in silent accusation. _What right do you have to that love now_? a voice demanded. 

  
***  


Driven to distraction by the boredom of sitting around Doug's place all day, unable to do anything but wait until he brought home something they could start work on, Cody had gone out for a prolonged walk in the late evening air. He was feeling much better, between the rest and decent food he had been getting, and unconsciously his footsteps turned toward home. He found himself walking along the pier toward the _Riptide_ 's slip and suppressed the urge to call out and announce his return.   


He wasn't sure what he was going to do there, but it was a familiar place to think, and, he rationalized to himself, he would be able to recognize any of Crawford's thugs that might be hanging out there. Getting a chance to follow one of them or to warn Nick before they made an attempt on him as well seemed worth the risk of being seen. He took precautions against being recognized that amounted to little more than a slouch and reliance on the fact that he hadn't shaved since the day he was kidnapped, but nothing else was really necessary; nobody expected to see him so it was unlikely they'd try to find him behind a disguise.   


It was late and there weren't many tourists left strolling beside the docks, even though it was a pleasantly warm night. Everything but the bigger restaurants along the Redondo boardwalk had closed, leaving King Harbor quiet enough that he could hear the soft lapping of the sea against the breakwater. The occasional creak and mutter of the _Riptide_ shifting in its mooring made him homesick and he had to forcibly remind himself of what the consequences of rejoining Nick and Murray now were likely to be.   


Not having any other place he needed to go for a while, he settled back into the shadows around the Fish Market. Watching over his boat without being seen himself wasn't much comfort, but it was all he could do for the present. He was almost nodding, lulled by the sound of the water and the faint beat of music from the band at Straightaway's drifting across on the intermittent breeze, when the back hatchway opened and Nick emerged onto the deck, closing the door behind him on the lighted passageway.   


He was holding something in his hands, though from where he sat Cody couldn't tell what it was. He stood in the dark a long time silently staring out toward the ocean, then abruptly raised his arm and threw the object out into the water. Cody caught a dull metallic glitter as the arc lights of the harbor reflected off it briefly and realized with a start that it was Nick's gun. As it hit the water, the soft splash plainly audible in the still air, he marked the spot it sank, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead as he wondered why Nick would throw away something like that. He was answered almost immediately when Nick broke his silence by addressing the ghost that was haunting him.   


"Cody, I wish to God I could change what happened. You know I would rather have killed myself than ever hurt you." Nick spoke quietly, as if to someone standing directly in front of him, but his voice carried clearly to where Cody sat huddled in the shadows. "When I realized what I'd done, I wanted to, damn near did, and I'm still tempted." Though Nick's eyes were fixed on the calm water of the harbor, his gaze was blank as his mind pictured the one he was talking to instead of his surroundings. "I know you wouldn't want me to, but it's so hard without you..." His voice caught but he continued anyway, his control steadily waning as he forced himself to speak. "Keep that for me, would'ja, 'til I see you again, then we'll both know I won't do something stupid. Like trying to join you," he finished in a near whisper, hanging his head in an attitude of such utter misery that Cody rocked in sympathetic pain where he sat, biting his lip until he could tell himself that was the reason his eyes stung with unshed tears.   


Nick didn't go back inside right away, preferring the open air to the rooms inside that still echoed with the sounds of friendship. He stretched out on the bench, shoving the cushions around until he was comfortable, and lay back watching the sky. His breathing slowly evened out and assumed a steady rhythm as he slipped into an exhausted doze. 

Cody stood, easing the cramp out of his leg, and sidled away carefully. He hadn't gone far when he was stopped in his tracks by Nick's anguished cry, and fearing that some sudden attack had been made, hurriedly returned. There was no one else at the _Riptide_ , though, only Nick; wide awake again and curled against the back of the seat, head down on his arms sobbing quietly as if he had no hope. Cody turned away and fled, unable to stay and watch any more of his friend's grief without being able to help. Leaving the pier then was the hardest thing Cody had ever done

***

  


That night Doug smuggled home a set of very interesting documents. Knowing how restless Cody had been getting, he wasn't surprised to find the note that said he'd gone out for a walk and yes, he'd be very careful that nobody saw him. Smiling faintly at that last reassurance, he started dinner and laid the papers he'd brought next to Cody's plate.   


Not too much later, Cody returned, but rather than looking refreshed by his excursion, his expression was drawn and unhappy. He went straight to the meager liquor stock and poured himself a stiff scotch, contemplated it for a moment, then tossed it back in one gulp. When he'd caught his breath again, he muttered, "It always helps in the movies."   


"But not in real life," Doug said softly. "What happened?"   


"I ended up back at the pier, I'm not sure how. Force of habit, maybe. There wasn't anybody else around and I just wanted to be near home again. Then Nick came out on deck. He's... not taking my death well. And all I could do was watch! God, I wanted to call out to him, let him know it was alright, and I couldn't!" Slamming the glass down in frustration, his eyes brimming again, he turned to face Doug and demanded, "Do you have any idea what it feels like to see your best friend wish he could kill himself?"   


"Yes."   


"Yeah, sure." Cody's words had more sarcasm to them than he had perhaps intended, his own pain still too fresh to let him hear the depths in Doug's answer.   


"Do you think getting an employment offer from Harrison Crawford is like joining the army? Just call home and tell them you've decided to drop med school and start a career as a thug? I have a very good idea what you're going through, whether you want to believe it or not. Crawford's campaign to discredit me so I'd end up with no choice but to 'join' him destroyed every friendship I had." At Cody's sidelong look, Doug continued, hoping the explanation would draw Cody out of his depression. "My family already knew I was gay, he could only use that to blackmail the man I was seeing. A bank vice-president can't stand the sort of publicity Crawford had planned, especially when his father owns the bank and doesn't know about his social life." He smiled sardonically. "Scandal in the realms of high finance, don't you know. So instead, your recent captor set up a series of incidents that made it look as if I was using my part time job in the pharmacy to sell the drugs illegally. He had all the evidence manufactured, sent it to my parents as a 'concerned friend'." His voice was getting slightly hoarse and he turned away, heading aimlessly for the table.   


Despite himself, Cody was interested. He'd wondered how somebody like Doug had been "recruited" in the first place. "But why wouldn't they believe you, instead of him?" he asked, the sarcasm replaced by curiosity.   


"Because he let me know that if I convinced them it was a lie, he'd make sure they weren't around long enough to tell anybody else. I had to go along with the whole thing, 'go bad' on all my friends and the dreams of my parents, to save their lives from him. Hell of a way to thank them for all they'd done to get me that far. I couldn't even tell Kirk, he might have tried to help no matter what the consequences, and I couldn't put him in that danger." Unable to go on, he stood slumped by the table, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to control himself.   


"I'm sorry," Cody said quietly, his hatred for Crawford and his twisted genius at hurting the innocent renewing itself and burning away the last of his own self-pity. "I didn't know." He walked over and laid a comforting arm across Doug's shoulders, handing him one of the napkins from the table at the same time.   


"Thanks." Holding the cloth against his eyes and forcing himself to breathe slowly and steadily, he worked at regaining his composure. "I thought I'd adjusted by now." He tried shrugging casually, but it turned into a shiver. "How about pouring me one of those drinks?"   


"It only works in the movies," Cody chided lightly, giving him a gentle push toward one of the chairs and sitting in the other himself. Lifting the sheaf of papers, he scanned the top one and whistled appreciatively.   


Brightening, Doug sat across from him and reached over to point at the second paragraph. "I think this is what we need. It's an outline of the whole scheme, and he even lists the main targets. Now that I see what he's planning, those visits he's been making around town make a lot more sense. So far I know he's been to see everyone up to..." he ran his finger through the list, "this one."   


"This was just lying around the office, was it?" Cody asked, a larcenous twinkle in his eyes.   


"Nah," the casual shrug came off well this time. "It was rather cunningly hidden, filed in with the outdated warranties on every household appliance he's bought in the last six years. Nobody in their right mind would have looked for it there, so naturally it didn't take me long to find it."   


"Hah!" Cody chortled, "Little does he know the opposition has such a fearsome secret weapon at its disposal. So, now what do you think we ought to do with this?"   


"Well, I think the best thing we could do is get one of the people he hasn't approached yet to agree to tape conversations and turn State's evidence on him. It's too late to get to any of the ones he's already talked to, they're either thoroughly intimidated or dead. There's no telling how much of the local constabulary he already owns, so I don't think we should call the cops until we've got good third party corroboration for our story. Otherwise he'll just deny the whole thing and arrange a series of very convienent accidents for us and anybody we talk to. He's done that before, I know."   


"OK, so I go see this guy and tell him what we know, convince him it's safer to be on the side of the good guys and the American Way, while you keep tabs on Crawford and any changes in plan. Then we drop the whole mess in the lap of a certain police lieutenant I know, along with the FBI, CIA and anybody else we can think of. Could he wiggle out of that?"   


"Just possibly. But I know where a lot more bodies are buried, and how to convince a few of his other employees to spill their guts too. Once we get a good handle on him, I think we could break his whole operation."   


Cody grinned wolfishly. "I'm looking forward to this, you know." 

Doug's predatory look matched his. "Yeah, I know."

***

  


The Spanish mission-style house was set back from the road on faultlessly kept lawns. The huge date palms lining the driveway had been trimmed recently and the flower beds were all freshly raked. Cody had felt very out of place slouching up to the front door in his bum's disguise, but the councilman had proven to be an intelligent and reasonable man. Listening to Cody's educated accent rather than closing his mind at the outward appearance, he had made a few phone calls to confirm the details of the story Cody told him, and then agreed to help. Now, crouching behind one of the immaculate hedges, Cody still felt silly, but at least he was involved and finally doing something. Doug had called earlier to let him know that Crawford was going to make this visit tonight, and armed with a camera and the appropriate film, Cody waited patiently.   


The long black limo rolled up the driveway, only the sound of the gravel crunching under its tires alerting him to its arrival. It stopped at the front portico and the chauffeur got out and walked around to open the back door for Crawford. Quickly aiming the lens, Cody got several shots of Westin personally greeting Crawford at the door. Doug had warned him that their target was quite capable of providing fifty unimpeachable witnesses who'd swear he'd never been anywhere near the Westin house, and they'd decided that taking some insurance pictures would be a good idea. It had sounded like a good idea to Westin as well, and he had promised not only to greet his visitor, but to somehow mention the date in the conversation that was being recorded, and then to see him off as well.   


What Cody hadn't planned on was the car that followed the limo, parking unobtrusively in the shadows across the road. It was his own Jimmy, and though he knew very well who was driving it he turned the camera in that direction, using the lens to bring the image into sharper focus. After a moment his hands began to tremble so that he could no longer hold the camera steady. Nick looked worse than terrible, gaunt and strangely aged. He sat unmoving, his eyes so deepset that he appeared barely alive. Because of me... Cody knew, and it twisted something deep inside him. He set the camera down and turned away from the road, concentrating fiercely on the house, desperately ignoring the feelings that shook his breathing and cramped his stomach. It took every ounce of willpower he had, and then some, to keep from abandoning his watch on the house, running over to Nick, and blowing the whole scenario. If Doug hadn't been depending on him, he wouldn't have hesitated. In the still suburban evening the faint sound of the Jimmy's radio carried, and he tried to occupy himself with deciphering the lyrics of the song he half-recognized.   


>   
>  _Lost and all alone  
>  I always thought that I could make it on my own  
> Since you left I hardly make it through the day  
> My tears get in the way  
> And I need you back to stay..._   
> 

  


Even clearer than the verse was the vehement profanity Nick uttered as he turned the radio off. Though it was probably only twenty minutes, it seemed like an eternity to both watchers before Crawford and Westin strolled out, appearing to be on the best of terms. Cody lifted the camera and finished off the roll as they shook hands before Crawford slid back into the car and it pulled away. Westin stood for a moment on the porch, nodded as if to himself in thought, and went back inside. 

Even with the all-clear signal given, Cody still waited, staring fixedly at the house until he heard the sound of the second vehicle departing. Only when the street was completely silent again did he move from the shelter of the bushes and stretch out the kinks in his back. It was a long walk back to Doug's place, but right then he welcomed it.

***

  


"What's going on with Crawford?" Murray asked as Nick came in.   


"I don't know, still. All this dude does is drive around and visit local political figures, when he isn't amusing himself at some fancy club. It's beginning to look like his only goal in life is to chat with every single politician in the greater LA area. It may indicate poor judgement, but I don't think we can get him arrested for it. Not even Quinlan would go for that." He sank wearily onto the bench, glanced over at the coffee pot, then dismissed it as too much effort.   


Murray sighed and flipped open the top page of the latest printout from his research. "Let me know if any of these names mean anything, OK? It's a real long shot, but I'm trying to find out if there's any connection between his current contacts and people who've been involved in previous operations that he may have masterminded." He began reading a list of names, pausing only briefly after each one.   


Nick closed his eyes and appeared to be on the verge of nodding off and Murray spoke a little quieter to allow him to sleep if he could, when he interrupted, "Wait a minute, what was that last one again?"   


"Jay Armstrong," Boz repeated, "does it mean something to you?"   


"I'm not sure." Silent in deep thought for a few moments, he suddenly snapped his fingers as an expression of recognition flashed across his face. "Can you check that one for family connections? See if he had a wife and if her maiden name was, ah... DuRoi. I'm pretty sure it's the same one, though."   


"The same what?" Murray asked, already tapping keys. In a few moments he was able to answer his own question. "Let's see, surviving family, yes, his wife resumed her maiden name, moved to live with her sister... Allen? Cody's mother?"   


"Yeah, it fits. Now it fits. Armstrong was Cody's favorite uncle, that's got to be where I heard Crawford's name before." He fell quiet, musing to himself, a distant wistful look appearing.   


Murray watched him curiously, then as the wistfulness began subtly changing to sadness he broke into the obvious trend Nick's thoughts were taking and said, "Want to tell me about it?"   


Looking grateful for the interruption, Nick explained, "I didn't think of it until now because it was so long ago that he told me. It was one of those long rainy nights in Nam and we were swapping family histories to pass the time. We were digging up all the black sheep stories we could think of," he smiled faintly as he remembered, "and I had at least twice as many as he did. Then he told me about his Uncle Jay. There'd been a scandal in his uncle's company, something about fraudulent bookkeeping on a government contract, and he was accused of being behind it. He denied having anything to do with it and seemed confident about being able to prove it, but the week before the trial started, he committed suicide. At least, that's what it looked like, Cody's aunt claimed it was murder and he agreed, he'd been very close to his uncle and didn't believe it either. Never could prove it though, but he swore someday he would.   


"The parent company was owned by Harrison Crawford, and Cody told me he was sure it had been him behind the dirty dealing, and that he'd had his uncle murdered to cover it up. He even said he'd gone to see Crawford at the time and told him he'd find a way to prove it some day."   


Excitedly Murray said, "Then you think Crawford remembered that and when he saw Cody again, he got worried Cody would try to get in his way? That's perfect, he's got the motive, now all we need to do is prove he's behind something that Cody might have figured out." Paging through the rest of the stack, he pulled out another sheet and waved it at Nick. "And this is how he knew where Cody was! Just on a hunch, I traced the ownership of the insurance company that hired us, and guess who owns it?"   


"Hold on, if Crawford owns the company, why would he hire us to look into his own operation?"   


"That's easy, if you've ever dealt with corporate hierarchy. I doubt that the executive who hired us even knows Crawford owns the company, much less reports to him about every detail of his own work. About the only way Crawford could keep track of everything would be to have a program on his own computer that would flag a preset series of names or incidents, and if Cody's name was on the list, he'd have known all about us almost as soon as we were hired."   


"So how do we prove it? This guy's had lots of practice covering his tracks. We're not getting anywhere just following him around, but if he did have anything to do with Cody's... death, he just might say something to one of his thugs that would give us a more concrete lead. Have you got one of those little transmitters so we could bug Crawford's car or phone or office or something? "   


Boz yawned widely. "No problem, I've got a couple lying around. Do you need any help? I'm beat."   


"No, I'll take care of it. And quit worrying, I'm OK."   


"What, me worry?" Boz looked appropriately shocked at the very idea. He stood up and navigated carefully toward his room, tossing over his shoulder as he went down the stairs, "Never. Oh, I left half of a lasagne in the fridge, too." 

Shaking his head tiredly but smiling with affection, Nick called, "Good night, Murray."

***

  


The next day Doug was in attendance as Crawford continued to make his round of visits. Neither noticed the red and white GMC that followed them at a discreet distance, or the miniscule microphone which had been affixed to the underside of the back seat. It was a fairly quiet ride for the first half of the day, but after one of the early afternoon appointments Crawford returned to the car in a much better mood.   


"You know, Walters, this is going well enough that I may even find it in my heart to forgive your clumsiness in allowing Allen to escape, so to speak."   


Suddenly wary, Doug asked, "Sir?"   


"Don't be coy, I know how you hated to watch my little torture sessions. I don't suppose you had anything to do with that fire? Rather see him dead than having that pretty face all bruised up?" Crawford's voice held an insinuating note. "Ever stop and wonder if death by fire wasn't worse than anything I was doing to him?"   


Shifting uncomfortably, Doug replied, "Well, I never did understand what it was you had against him. He really didn't know anything about this operation, so there didn't seem to be any point to prolonging all the pain."   


"It's a long story, Walters. Had to do with an uncle of Allen's back east who got in my way and had to be removed. Runs in the family, I suppose. Just made it all the more interesting, though I do think I could have broken him in another week. Personal vendettas successfully concluded are so satisfying, don't you think?"   


"Yes, sir, I'm certain they must be," Doug said thoughtfully. 

"There may be hope for you yet," Crawford replied smugly.

***

"Oh, my God." Nick pulled the Jimmy over and reached for a blank tape cassette, exchanging it for the one in the machine monitoring the bug he had planted in the limo the night before. His hand shook slightly as he rewound the tape in the dash player and listened to the last conversation again. As it played out, it lead him inexorably to the realization that Cody had been alive, tortured by Crawford, and then burned to death while Nick had been moping around and feeling sorry for himself. And the whole time, Cody would have been waiting for him, knowing he wouldn't give up, trusting he would find and rescue him before it was too late, the flames licking around... Nick was on the ground beside the truck heaving long after his stomach was empty. Even before he had finished throwing up, the wracking sobs began shaking him and he lay by the side of the road, wishing with what little coherent mind he had left that he had not thrown his gun away; he wanted nothing more at that moment than to turn it on himself, to try and blow the pictures he was seeing out of his head.

***

  


"What did you find out, Nick?" Murray asked groggily. He'd been waiting up and had fallen asleep in front of the TV.   


"Nothing. I'm going to bed." He passed Murray without a second glance, and Boz was surprised to hear him lock the door to the rear stateroom.   


Worried, Murray knocked on the door and asked, "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do?"   


"No. Get the hell out of here and leave me alone." Though Nick's demand was phrased strongly, his voice was flat and cold.   


Recoiling, Murray walked away as quietly as he could, hurt by Nick's refusal to talk to him and wondering for the hundredth time if their lives would ever seem normal again.   


As the familiar darkness closed in around him, Nick began to realize that he had made a serious mistake in retreating to the room he had shared so long with Cody. The memories fought with the mental images his imagination had conjured that afternoon, and suddenly sick again, he unlocked the door and fled the _Riptide_ with a strangled cry.   


For most of the night he wandered aimlessly up and down the beaches, knowing he couldn't tell Murray what he had discovered and wondering how he could avoid explaining what had happened. _He couldn't handle it, he's strong, but innocent, that sort of brutality would destroy him. The guilt alone, God knows how I feel and he would think it had been his responsibility to find Cody, find him before..._   


Near dawn he found himself by the _Mimi_ , and smiled without humor as he remembered that the final solution to his problem was not only very obvious, but also immediately available. It didn't take him long to find that the firing pins of every single weapon stored in his helicopter had been removed. _Murray! What gives him the right to decide what I do?_   


He stormed angrily back around the harbor, intent on confronting Boz. Breaking into the forward stateroom he grabbed Murray and shook him roughly, demanding, "Where are they?"   


"What?" Murray asked, not awake enough to guess what Nick meant.   


"You know what I mean! The firing pins, what did you do with them?!"   


Terrified by the wild look in Nick's eyes but determined not to give in, Murray shrank back against the wall and asked carefully, "What do you want them for?"   


"I want them so I can..." _kill myself? Beat up Murray and then leave him alone to find out what really happened?_   


Watching the shift from anger to shame, Boz reached up tentatively and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Nick?" he asked gently.   


"Oh God, Murray, I'm sorry," Nick choked, letting go the lapels of Murray's pyjamas and sinking to sit on the side of the bed. "It hurts so much," he whispered as Murray's thin arms wrapped around him. 

"I know, I love him too." As Nick held onto him, they both cried for all they had lost.

***

  


"How long now?" was the first thing Cody asked as he came in the door after another evening walk. While he often had a great deal of patience, this particular waiting game wore on his nerves and he had begun to take long walks in the evenings when the feeling of being cooped up all day got too strong. He carefully avoided going near the harbor, but often ranged quite far in other directions, trying not to think of how close he was to his friends. Though it was quite late, Doug was still up, typing furiously.   


"Not very," he answered, still absorbed in his work, but in a couple minutes he hit the last two keys with a flourish and stood to stretch. "Been working on putting down most of what I know about Crawford's past operations, what dates and places I remember. We can send this in with the stuff Westin is going to hand over and it should put quite a noose around our slimy friend's neck."   


"Have you talked to Westin, then?" Cody asked.   


"Yes, about an hour ago. He says the tape came out fine, Crawford made him the offer we said he would and threw in a little bit of physical threat as well. It should go over quite well with the DA. I think," he smiled over at Cody, "we can send it in tomorrow."   


"Great! If I know Quinlan, he'll move on it as soon as he verifies just enough of it to get a warrant issued. I don't think signing _my_ name to it would help any, though." He grinned, already imagining the look on the lieutenant's face when he eventually found that Cody was still among the living.   


Doug looked puzzled at that, not knowing of the minor feud that had been going on between King Harbor's finest and the _Riptide_ Agency. "I'll send it in with my name, he can check my story and listen to the tape and that should give him quite enough to go on. Good Time Harry should be enjoying the hospitality of the local House of Many Doors by tomorrow night."   


"And you?" Cody asked, suddenly realizing that for Doug to tell everything he knew would mean he would be implicated as an accomplice in much of it.   


He shrugged, though Cody could see he was more worried than he wanted to admit. "I'll throw myself on the mercy of the court. Even if they lock me away too, it's got to be better than freedom under Crawford has been. Promise you'll come and visit once in a while?"   


"Sure, I'll even bring you a cake with a file in it," Cody joked, trying to lighten the mood. Then it occurred to him just what prison would mean to somebody like Doug, and added hastily, "Look, all you have to do is agree to testify against Crawford and you'll get immunity from prosecution. You'll be back in med school in no time."   


"You really think so?" Doug asked hopefully. 

"You bet," Cody answered confidently, clapping him on the back. "Let's get some sleep, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

***

  


"What the hell happened to you, Ryder?" Quinlan demanded. "You look like shit."   


"Listen to this," he said flatly, dropped the tape on the lieutenant's desk, and left the office.   


Quinlan stared after Nick curiously, then picked up the tape and read the scribbled label identifying it as a conversation between Crawford and an unidentified employee the day before. As he listened to the tape, he sat back in his chair, shaken by what he heard. _No wonder he looked so bad._   


Nick was outside, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back when Quinlan came out the door behind him. The lieutenant looked deeply shocked and thoroughly disgusted. Placing a sympathetic hand on Nick's shoulder, he said, "I'm sorry. Let's go bring him in."   


"You do it." Dragging his gaze away from the ceiling tile, Nick wandered out of the room without appearing to notice his surroundings. His dark purple shirt hung loosely over the dejected slump of his shoulders, and he shuffled slightly.   


Barking orders, Quinlan soon had Crawford's current position located and was about to get several squad cars dispatched to pick him up for questioning while a search warrant was being obtained. He was interrupted by an officer escorting an uncertain but determined young man carrying a sheaf of paper. "What is it, Roberts?"   


"This guy says he has some information for you about Harrison Crawford. You want me to take care of it?" 

"No, I'll talk to him. Well, what are you waiting for? Go get me that search warrant. Move!" 

***

  


Through the news detailing the arrest of Crawford and what had been discovered so far of his plans, Nick sat watching, occasionally sipping at his coffee even long after it had cooled to barely lukewarm. Murray was sympathetically quiet, not having the heart to feel at all triumphant about their victory when he still felt it had come at far too high a price. When the newscast was over, Nick turned off the TV and lay back, brooding over his cold coffee as if it held some mystic answer in its murky depths.   


The faint sound of footsteps approaching along the dock came through the open door, and as they reached the stair to board and showed no hesitation, Nick stood and headed for the stairway down to his room.   


"Nick? Where are you going?" Murray asked. "It could be a new client already, or Quinlan; he promised he'd come by when they found out what all this had to do with that attack on you when... well, he said he'd let us know."   


Nick turned back and for a brief moment Boz was surprised at how haggard and worn he still looked, the sharp pain of the preceeding weeks settling into a permanent melancholy that deepened rather than dispersing with time. "I don't feel like talking to anybody right now, okay? You take care of whatever it is and fill me in later." He descended out of sight and Murray heard the door close behind him just as a figure ducked in through the open door.   


Cody didn't say anything as Murray stared at him, shock and disbelief slowly changing to overjoyed excitement when Cody finally said "Hi" almost shyly.   


"Cody? You're not... but... you're really alive? How? What happened?" Showering him with questions, Murray cautiously touched him as if testing to see if he was indeed real, then grabbed him in an enthusiastic hug. "Wait 'till Nick sees you! He's been _miserable_ this whole time thinking you were dead!" He raised his voice and called "Nick! C'mere! You gotta see this!" as he tugged a smiling unresisting Cody toward the stairs.   


"Murray, can't it wait?" Nick sounded apathetic and a little hoarse.   


"No. Come on, you're gonna love this! It'll make you feel better to see what I found!" He tried hard to stifle his giggles, happiness making him a bit giddy. Even Cody was snickering slightly in anticipation.   


The door opened and Nick trudged up the stairs. "What is it?" he asked, his tone indicating a complete lack of interest in the answer. As he reached the top of the steps he looked up, and froze. The build and stance of the man next to Murray were so familiar, painfully so, that his subconscious knew the answer long before his conscious mind could begin to accept it. _Who? No_. The beard changed the look of his face, but the eyes... That clear, intense shade of blue that he had so often seen sparkle with laughter, as it seemed to now. _Cody?_ There was a sudden roaring in his ears and his vision clouded over as his knees gave out and he began to crumple.   


Cody's amusement changed instantly into concern and he jumped forward in time to catch Nick before he hit the floor. With one arm behind Nick's shoulders and the other around his waist, Cody dropped to his knees, barely managing to hold the dead weight of Nick's unconscious body. Supporting him in a partially upright position, Cody couldn't quite believe that Nick had actually fainted at seeing him. "Nick? Hey, come on, wake up, pal, it's OK, it's all over."   


Nick's eyes opened slowly and he found himself staring up into Cody's face. With a mixture of disbelief, amazement, and joy, Nick reached up to touch Cody's face, then slid his arm around behind Cody's neck and pulled him down into a crushing hug. The reaction sweeping through Nick shook them both as he sobbed, holding Cody as if he were afraid he would disappear if he let go.   


Cody was surprised to find himself crying too as he hugged Nick in return. Sliding his legs around so that he was sitting, Cody held on as Nick began to babble, "You're alive, you were dead and then alive and then dead and now you're alive and I can't believe it!"   


Not knowing that Nick had heard of the fire covering his escape, he couldn't make heads or tails of what Nick meant. It didn't matter, he was so glad to be home again that he didn't care at the moment. "It's OK, I'm here, I'm not leaving, come on, I'm OK..." The relief and happiness were sufficient to start him smiling, then laughing, and he hugged Nick even tighter.   


Nick gasped for breath, then tightened his own grip until Cody was gasping and they broke apart to lay on their backs, laughing at the ceiling. Lifting one arm up to Murray, Cody let himself be pulled off the floor, then helped Nick up, catching him in another hug as he came to his feet. Murray stood close enough to put an arm over each of them, and they included him in their continuing reunion.   


When they had eventually calmed down, only smiling inanely and giggling occasionally, they began exchanging the details of their separate investigations. Cody did not speak much of the time before Doug rescued him, and Nick didn't volunteer every experience he had been through either. Without conscious intent, the two of them remained in close proximity, needing the constant reassurance of touch to convince themselves it was finally over.   


The three of them were sitting around the table cracking up as they took turns speculating on Crawford's possible future, when there was an abrupt knock on the door. "Come on in," yelled Nick jovially, and they broke up again at the look on Quinlan's face as he came in and stopped short, seeing Cody.   


Quickly squelching what might have been a pleased grin, the lieutenant launched into an impassioned accusation. "Allen, you're supposed to be dead. Your buddies here put on quite an act to convince me you were. I suppose the whole thing was another of your stupid jokes to make me look like an ass."   


"Now, Lieutenant, you hardly need our help for that," Nick replied, sending Murray into a choking fit as he tried not to laugh aloud.   


Cody smiled widely. "Let's not be a sore loser, Lieutenant, think of all the paperwork I saved you by turning up again."   


"So I could have filled out a few more forms, it wouldn't have been that bad," he groused, then crossed the floor and held out his hand.   


Cody shook it solemnly and said, "Thanks."   


Quinlan looked suddenly uncomfortable and fell back into his belligerent pose. "Yeah, well, I just came by to tell you we found the boat that attacked you. The lab boys are pretty certain they can tie it to a couple of the piracy cases. Crawford's trained apes are starting to sing and along with a file your friend Doug brought in, we should have the whole story soon. You three dummies can read it in the paper like everybody else." Smirking again, he turned and left.   


"Thank you," Nick called after him, his voice amused but not mocking.   


"That's pretty neat," Cody observed, "he didn't even ask if we could read this time. We must be making progress."   


For the first time in weeks, Nick suddenly noticed he was ravenously hungry. "Hey, I'm starved. Let's move this party closer to some food."   


"Before we go anywhere, I'm going to shave and get into some of my own clothes. It's been driving me nuts," Cody said, pulling off his shirt as he went down the stairs.   


"God!" Nick blurted, horrified. "What the hell happened to your back?" Cody's skin was dotted with pairs of small red marks that looked like burns.   


Cody glanced back over his shoulder and turned to face Nick, revealing more of the same marks across his chest and stomach. "Oh, that..." He cleared his throat. "You know those stun guns the cops use to paralyze people so they can cuff 'em? They work real good. Shoot fifty thousand volts into somebody and they don't move for a while. Except they leave marks wherever they're used. Kinda fries the skin."   


Nick was momentarily speechless as he realized again what Cody must have gone through at Crawford's hands. "If you want to..."   


"Nick, I'd rather not talk about it any more," Cody interrupted, but Nick saw the haunted look in his eyes that said, _Please don't make me talk about it any more._   


"OK. Murray, let's go dig through the fridge and see if we have anything that hasn't grown fuzz yet." 

He led the way to the galley and had just opened the refrigerator when Cody called, "Uh, Nick? Where's my stuff?"   


"What stuff?" Nick asked automatically, then recalled the day he had spent packing and winced. "Ah... just a minute, I'll be right there."   


"Nick, is this good?" Murray asked, holding up a Tupperware bowl containing food substances of an indeterminate origin and age.   


"I don't know, smell it," Nick replied distractedly as he headed back up the stairs.   


"It doesn't _have_ any smell," was Murray's puzzled response.   


Joining Cody in the rear stateroom, Nick dragged the boxes out of Cody's closet, explaining, "I didn't want to just leave your stuff all over, so I packed it up to give to your Mom....Oh, shit!"   


Cody's "Oh, no!" was simultaneous. "You called her, right?"   


"Of course I called her, we thought, well, you know what we thought. I figured she'd rather hear it from us than from Quinlan."   


"I wanted to call her myself, but we were afraid if we talked to _anybody_ , Crawford would be able to find out. If I call her now, though, it's going to be quite a shock." Cody paused and looked hopefully at Nick. "You suppose you could call and tell her?"   


"Right. 'Gee, Mrs. Allen, it seems I've made a mistake.'"   


"Hey, YOU told her, not me."   


"Look, I'm starving and you need a shave. Let's worry about this later, OK? Here's your shirts, and your shaving stuff is in the small box over there." Nick paused, realizing that they were almost arguing, and was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, Cody, I'll go call her right now. You'd better shave first, or she won't recognize you." He ducked in time to avoid the wadded up shirt Cody aimed in his direction.   


Murray was on the phone ordering dinner. "I had to throw away whatever that was, I couldn't figure out whether it should be heated or served cold with fudge sauce. The pizza should be here in half an hour."   


"What'd you get?"   


"A Domino's Death Disk with everything but the little fishies. What's up?"   


"I'm going to call Cody's mother," Nick said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.   


"Ah," Murray said blankly, then, " _Oh_."   


"Yeah." Though Nick's resigned tone indicated he didn't really want to be in his current position, the call was still much easier than the last he'd made. Cody was still on the phone trying to explain exactly what had happened when the pizza arrived, so Nick and Murray adjoined to the galley with it, promising to eat the whole thing themselves if left undisturbed.   


The next morning, Nick was up and out working on the _Mimi_ early. It had been some time since he had felt motivated to work on her, but the clear sky showing through the portholes and the occasional soft snore from Cody's bunk were all he needed to give him the urge to go flying again. He rose quietly and sneaked out, feeling only slightly guilty at leaving the traditional weekend housecleaning for Murray and Cody to start without him.   


When Cody woke up a couple hours later, he opened his eyes and stared around him, disoriented at first. It had seemed like so long ago that he had slept in his own bed, and the room he found himself in now bore little resemblance to the one he recalled. It was the same mess it had been for the last couple of weeks. Nick hadn't slept or eaten much, and certainly hadn't spent any time on housework. Cody could hardly blame him, but sighed in resignation at the amount to be done anyway, noticing with a wry smile that the perpetrator of the domestic disaster was nowhere in sight.   


He had picked up the floor and was making the beds when he came across the letter under Nick's pillow. He unfolded it curiously and it took him a moment to recognize it. He sat down slowly, re-reading his own words and recalling how difficult it had been to put them on paper. There were a few spots scattered across the page and his throat tightened as he realized they were tear stains. _And Crawford made Nick believe that he had killed me himself. How this must have hurt on top of that._   


The touch on his shoulder startled him out of his brief reverie and he looked up to find Nick standing next to him. "I'm sorry," he said, voicing his train of thought without preamble. "I never meant to make things worse for you."   


Nick glanced down at the letter, then looked away quickly, the memory of his feelings in the recent past still too fresh. After a moment, he replied quietly, "You didn't." With a fleeting smile, "How could it have been worse?"   


"You know what I mean." Cody sighed, refolded the page, then hesitated, not knowing what to do with it. "It was bad enough what you were going through without me throwing this in, too."   


"Why, didn't you mean it?"   


Cody's head snapped up at that, catching the betrayed look behind the words before Nick turned away. He stood and walked around to face Nick. Taking his hand, he gently folded the letter into it. "You know I did. Every last word."   


Nick stared down at the paper in his hands, trembling slightly. "The worst part was that I felt the same way," he said slowly, pausing to search for the right words, "but it was too late to say so." He looked up, meeting Cody's eyes, though the incipient tears blurred his sight a little. "I wanted to tell you..." he tried.   


Murray's voice filtered down from the main salon, "Nick? Cody? Guys? Where are you?" and the moment was past.   


"Down here, Murray," Cody called, picking up the pillow he had found the letter under and shaking it out of the case. Adding it to the pile of sheets, towels, and assorted clothes in the center of the room, he remarked to Nick, "You _were_ going to do the laundry before Christmas, weren't you?"   


"Only if it looked like it needed it," Nick replied, tucking the crumpled letter into a pocket as Murray came down the stairs. "What's up, Murray?"   


"I need a new phase locked loop oscillator chip, either of you going out today?"   


"Yeah, matter of fact I was just going to leave, I have to go pick up some parts for the _Mimi_ ," Nick said, digging through his closet for the clean shirt he'd originally come down for. Not finding one, he rummaged through the dresser, and finally asked Cody, "Could I borrow one of your shirts?"   


"Sure, just don't forget to change out of it before you go back to working on that giant greaseball, OK?"   


"Yeah, yeah, I will. Murray, what was the name of that gizmo?"   


"I'll come with you, I need a particular frequency range and we may have to go to a couple places to find it." 

"Swell."

***

  


A few days later there was a knock on the door in the middle of the third inning. At the shouted invitation to come in, Doug opened the door and entered hesitantly. It took a second for Cody to recognize him without the beard, then he exclaimed, "Doug!" Standing to welcome him, he explained to Nick and Murray, "This is the guy who got me out." Introductions made, Doug shook hands shyly, not sure how much Cody had told his friends about what had gone on before he had been rescued.   


"So, how did it go with the DA?" Cody asked.   


Declining the proferred seat, Doug explained, "I just stopped by on my way to the airport. You were right about the deal they would offer, if I testify through the whole trial, tell everything I know about Crawford's operations, they'll grant me immunity. It's going to be months before the case is tried, so I'm going back out to stay with my folks for a while."   


"That's great! What about going back to med school?"   


"Well, I've applied at several colleges, and my chances are pretty good. Should be starting next semester."   


"And your friend?"   


Doug grinned. "Amazingly enough, all the schools I applied to happen to be in big cities that have branches of his bank."   


"Convenient," Cody said straightfaced, then laughed with him. "Keep in touch, OK? I always wanted a doctor in the family."   


"Take two aspirin and call me in the morning," Doug smiled. "Don't worry, I'll write. And thanks, Cody." He held out his hand.   


Cody shook his hand. As he did so, it struck him how much he owed Doug. A handshake seemed inadequate to convey his feelings and he gave him a quick hug before stepping back to let him out the door. He watched as Doug left up the ramp to the waiting taxi, then turned back to Nick and Murray. "Nice guy, hope it all works out for him."   


Nick nodded. "Yeah, he took quite a chance. What was that about his friend?"   


Cody shrugged. "Crawford was blackmailing both of them, that's part of how he coerced Doug into working for him."   


"Oh? Is he...?" Nick asked, mildly curious.   


"Yeah," Cody said simply.   


"Is he what?" Murray demanded. "What are you talking about?" 

"Never mind," was the chorused response.

***

  


As Nick returned from another expedition in search of helicopter parts, he happened to glance toward the fantail and noticed Cody's scuba gear lying on the deck, dripping. Curious, he ducked inside and found Cody in his bathrobe, cleaning an object in front of him on the table.   


"What's up?"   


"Just doing a little salvage diving, found something you might want." He held Nick's gun out to him. "Salt water's not too good for these things, y'know," he said, trying to be casual.   


Nick took the gun and stared at it. "How..."   


"You asked me to keep it for you till you saw me again," Cody said quietly.   


Nick looked at him, comprehension dawning as he remembered that night. "You heard..."   


Cody nodded.   


"You watched, you knew how I felt, and you just sat back and watched?" He was almost shouting now. "You let me go through all that just so you could enjoy the show?"   


"Nick, it wasn't like that!" Cody held out both hands pleadingly. "Don't you see, if Crawford knew I had rejoined you, told you what I knew of his involvement, he would have killed us all on the spot. The only way I could keep from making you and Murray targets too was to stay dead to you. Do you think it was easy for me?" He moved forward and grasped Nick's shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. "Nick? You know how I... damn it, you know I wouldn't do something like that to you."   


Nick glared into his eyes for a moment, then spun away. Cody watched him anxiously, relaxing slightly when he saw the rigid lines of Nick's back soften.   


"Yeah, I know," Nick finally said. "It's just that it wasn't easy to handle. If you saw this," he hefted the gun, "then you know how ripped up I was. I don't want to feel that way again, not ever."   


"There's no way to avoid it, my friend. Sooner or later, it will be for real, for one of us." Cody's voice was quiet, regretful.   


"Then I just hope it's your turn next, pal," Nick said, turning to face him again and shrugging to lighten the tone of his wish. "I think it would be a whole lot easier on us both that way."   


"No, I don't think it would be any different at all." Cody stood pensively for a moment, then looked up. "Promise me one thing, though."   


"Yeah?"   


"Next time, if I go first," he began, then had to hold up a hand to stop Nick's automatic interruption, "next time, promise you won't try and join me. Please?"   


Nick was silent, clearly debating his answer. "I thought I could, once. I threw this away just to make sure. But we bugged Crawford's limo and after I heard..." his voice trailed off as he recalled that day, then shivered slightly at the brief image of rising flames.   


When he didn't continue, Cody asked, "Heard what?" though he was beginning to get a sick feeling that he already knew.   


"That you'd been alive after the fight on the boat, tortured, and then burned to death." The last few words were barely audible, and his eyes held a haunted look Cody had never seen before.   


Suddenly Cody understood Nick's extreme reaction to his resurrection. It hadn't been only one death he'd experienced, but the responsibility for having killed his friend twice over. Stunned by the implications, Cody whispered hoarsely, "My God, Nick, it wasn't your fault!"   


"It _was._ Cody, I gave up! I didn't even try to find you, I saw Crawford going into that warehouse and I never tried to get in myself. While you were being beat up, I was feeling sorry for myself. When I heard Crawford talking about the fire, something inside me snapped. If Murray hadn't pulled the firing pins..." he stopped, aware of what he had been about to say, remembering how he had threatened Murray that night. "I can't promise you, I just can't."   
_Pulled the firing pins?_ "No..." Cody breathed softly, denial and horror in his voice.   


The look Nick gave him left no doubt as to what he'd meant. Unable to maintain eye contact, Nick turned away again, setting his gun down carefully.   


The gesture gave Cody time to think, but he was too shaken to compose a reply that wasn't trite or judgmental. He walked over to Nick and put his hands on Nick's shoulders, leaning his forehead against his friend's back, not knowing how to deal with such an admission. Nick turned around, slid his arms around Cody and they held each other silently for a very long time.   


When they finally stood back, Cody said quietly, "I didn't know, I'm sorry. Can you promise me you'll try?"   


Just as quietly, Nick said, "I'll try." 

"That's enough," Cody reassured him gently, and for the moment, it was.   
  


> These common woes I feel. One loss is mine,  
> Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.  
> Thou wert as a lone star whose light did shine  
> On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar:  
> Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,  
> Thus, having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

  


Percy Bysshe Shelley  



End file.
